


Smoke and Mirrors

by SheegothBait



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheegothBait/pseuds/SheegothBait
Summary: Gabriel Reyes thought he'd have his entire life ahead of him to find and root out Talon. But when he realizes that his time has been cut short due to a genetic abnormality, he seeks unconventional help in an estranged geneticist. She quickly makes herself at home in Blackwatch headquarters, but is she a miracle of medicine, or is she trouble that threatens to tear Blackwatch apart?





	1. New Recruit

**Author's Note:**

> Hello gentlemen and ladies,  
> Apologies to the people who were reading Dance For Me, but it was kind of a by-the-seat-of-my-pants fan fiction that I didn't plan out too carefully. The chapters after 2 weren't coming out the way I wanted them, despite numerous rewrites, and I wasn't sure I'd finish it, even though I'd planned it to be relatively short. I try to give you guys the best fan fictions I can, but sometimes my posting decisions prove to be...unwise, shall we say.  
> I'm going into Smoke and Mirrors with a much more fleshed out plot line and with many more ideas for character interactions and arcs, so this fic should really go somewhere. Characters included in the tags are intended to be major characters; other characters may make cameos or small appearances.  
> This could be considered as a continuation of Bottled Lightning, though you don't need to read one to understand the other. The rivalry between Moira and Ziegler is carried over from BL.   
> I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading.  
> Adieu for now!

She stood and watched the dropship touch down, unbothered by the noise of the engines. The ramp lowered, and three figures approached her, one leading and the other two guarding their leader. The guard on the left sported extensive cybernetics and carried a sword, and the right-most guard…was wearing a cowboy hat and a poncho? How quaint. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but it quickly faded when she saw the distinctive circular patch on their leader’s left shoulder. _Overwatch._ Her eyes narrowed in disgust, her gaze flicking back to the white-and-red skull-like symbol emblazoned on the dropship’s flank. They were affiliated with each other?

No matter. It seemed that the organization that had once decried her was now looking to hire her, to finally leash her for good.

She refused to let it happen.

“Doctor O’Deorain; Gabriel Reyes.” The leader spoke, holding out a hand for her to shake.

She drew herself up, ignoring the offered hand. “Mr. Reyes, you bring me out here, to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, just to mock me? I’m not blind, you know.” She glanced pointedly at the Overwatch hoodie he wore under his light armor.

“You don’t understand. We’re not publicly affiliated with Overwatch.”

She scowled at him. “Regardless, my answer remains the same. I’m not Overwatch’s toy, and I never will be.” She turned away and looked out at the glittering, distant cityscape. “Besides, what use would a bunch of soldiers have for me?”

“Weapons tech, medicine, any innovation you choose to pursue as long as it holds practical benefits for Blackwatch. I can’t promise you a free rein, but I can get you plenty of funding. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

She grimaced. Reyes was right; she _did_ want funding. But at what cost? Would they make her sell out her commitment to advancement for the money?

“Work with me, and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

She glanced back at the trio. The two men behind Reyes were eyeing her suspiciously, the cowboy clenching his teeth around the cigar he was smoking, his arms folded across his chest. But Reyes stood there, holding out a hand and an offer.

“You’re the best of the best, and Blackwatch needs your help.”

He spoke the truth. She _was_ good at what she did, and she knew it. But with her reputation in flames, almost no one would hire her, not even for something as simple as producing the annual flu vaccine. She knew she wouldn’t be able to settle for something so mundane, either. Innovation was her lifeblood and sole passion, and this Blackwatch was offering her a second chance. Research as she saw fit, right under Overwatch’s overly-long nose.

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she thought it over. Defying the organization that had almost-singlehandedly stripped her of her status was only a bonus.

She turned and took Reyes’ extended hand.

“I accept,” she said. Behind Reyes, the cowboy grumbled something into his cigar.

Reyes shook her hand twice, then introduced the men with him.

“O’Deorain, this is Genji,” he indicated the man with the cybernetics, “and McCree.”

Genji nodded at her silently, but McCree didn’t respond. His eyes flicked to her scarred right hand. She straightened and tucked her arms behind her back, appraising the cowboy. He didn’t even try to hide the fact he didn’t like her. That was fine with her; he could have his own opinions as long as he didn’t interfere.

“Put that thing out, McCree,” Reyes said as he passed the cowboy. The man grunted in displeasure, reluctantly removed the smoldering butt from his mouth, crushed it beneath his boot, and shot her a glare. Ah. Reyes must have asked him as a courtesy to her. How very polite of him. If Reyes remained willing to work with her, she felt quite certain that she and Blackwatch would get along just fine.

*******************************

            “I don’t like this,” McCree growled. “We know what she got kicked from the research labs for. Overwatch hates her so much Dr. Ziegler even made a public statement against her. The hell are you thinking hiring her, Reyes?”

            “We need an edge. Every time we encounter Talon, they seem to get just a little bit stronger; new armor, improved weapons, better intelligence. _Especially_ better intelligence. I’m not terribly fond of it either, but we have to keep up with them somehow.  O’Deorain’s our ace in the hole, and she’s goddamned brilliant.” Reyes leaned forward. “Besides, if we hadn’t hired her, I’m sure Talon would have. She’s not fond of Overwatch. Probably considers working on their budget right under their radar as a bonus. Now think about if Talon had made contact with her before us.”

            A silence fell at these words.

            “You handled this situation rather well, Gabriel,” Genji supplied, breaking the uncomfortable pause. “This keeps O’Deorain from becoming a concern and gives us some help against an ever-strengthening enemy, though I don’t believe it a good idea to trust her implicitly.”

            “I agree,” Morrison chipped in. “I’m not a fan, but it’s better than the alternative. We’ll just have to keep an eye on her.”

            “Well, you got mine, as often as I can spare ‘em,” McCree said darkly.

            “Your concern is noted, Jesse, and I’m sure we’ll need you.” Morrison stood up. “For now, report any suspicious activity she gets up to, but don’t be too intrusive about it. She’s here as part of the team, not as some suspect.”

            A chorus of assenting murmurs came from each of the men except McCree, who glowered in displeasure and said nothing.

            “Dismissed.”

            Chairs scraped against the floor. Morrison caught Reyes by the shoulder.

            “A word, Gabriel.”

            “You think I did the wrong thing, hiring her,” Reyes said, crossing his arms.

            “Forget that a moment. You get the results back from Angela yet?”

            “No. I was going to give her a call after this.”

            “All right. Well, I hope it turns out okay.” Morrison put a hand on Reyes’ shoulder.

            “Thanks, Jack.” Reyes gave Morrison a tired smile. “Any wonder I keep you around?”

            Jack laughed. “Good luck, Reyes.”

            Gabriel grinned at his friend. “Don’t worry about me. I eat bullets for breakfast.”


	2. Ill News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes realizes the brevity of his life and debates what to do with the knowledge. Moira gets the real reason why she's been hired by Overwatch.

***********************************

_Three years._    

            Gabriel Reyes sat back in his desk chair, unable to absorb the information Angela had told him. He’d known he was dying, that the culprit was a genetic issue for quite some time. But he hadn’t realized just how little time he had. It was a combination of the damage the SEP serum had done to his genes and his genetic predisposition for dementia that was killing him, Angela said. The SEP serum, which had once boosted his muscle mass and strength to near-inhuman levels, had damaged his cells in such a way that his body couldn’t keep up with the dying ones. In short, his body was literally rotting. He had three years before the damage devoured his sanity, and another six months, maybe, before it claimed his life.

            She suggested putting him on indefinite medical leave and keeping him at the Overwatch base while she did her best to help him, but warned him that she could only do so much for him. She didn’t know how long he had until he became dangerous to himself; further tests over a longer period of time were needed. He’d have to resign his active post at Overwatch; arming a potentially unstable soldier with a gun was a recipe for disaster. _I didn’t sign up for being a paper-pusher_ , he’d snapped, cutting the line.

            He shouldn’t have gotten angry with her.

            But he couldn’t help it. It was so frustrating, knowing that his companions would be fighting Talon and he couldn’t help them. It wasn’t just that; his degenerating condition made him a straight-up liability, an easy sentimental target for Talon to disrupt the team’s strength. His failing mind would make it ever-easier for Talon to catch him off guard. His capture and/or death would upset his team’s mental state; they’d blame each other or themselves for not being able to protect him.  Even if Overwatch kept him safe, he would still be much more of a hindrance than a help, as he would need valuable attention that was much better spent on wounded, capable soldiers.

            He pulled up his medical records and rubbed at his forehead. Going to Moira was a gamble, a hope that he’d throw a lucky seven in the savage dice-game of life. But he was almost out of time and definitely out of options.

            He shook his head. No, he’d need more time to figure this out before he took that leap.

            _But,_ murmured a small voice in the back of his head, _she has to know eventually. You did hire her for her knowledge, didn’t you?_

            He closed his records and rubbed his forehead. He could at least tell her the basics of what was going on…

            ******************************

            A knock at the door nearly made her drop her pen. Moira hadn’t planned for people to come knocking so soon. She debated not answering it; getting the lab set up was more important. But not answering would stir animosity before she’d even finished inventory, and she couldn’t afford to have her employers hate her right now. She put down her pen, rearranged her expression into something that hopefully wasn’t annoyed at being interrupted, and palmed the door open.

            Reyes stood in the doorway, his face drawn, the circles under his eyes more pronounced than she’d seen on the dropship.

            “Commander. I didn’t expect anyone so soon.”

            His gaze flickered around the boxes and open cabinets. “I know you’re busy, but I need to talk to you.”

            She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is this about our agreement?”

            He shifted, not meeting her eyes. “Not quite.”

            “Mr. Reyes, I’m a very busy woman, and I don’t have time to play twenty questions with you. I advise you be forthcoming if you want to talk with me right now.”

            “I need some counseling.”

            She scoffed. “I’m afraid I don’t do that, Commander. You’ll have to look elsewhere.” She stepped back, but Reyes stuck his hand on the door, stopping it from closing.

            “You know I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to go.”

            “And what makes this particular issue so pressing that I have to know now?”

            “I’m on limited time. But I thought you should know…” he took a deep breath, then let it out, sagging against the door like a deflating balloon animal. “I have some genetic issues I need help with. Thought you might be able to help me.”

            Ah. _There it was._ The real reason Reyes had picked her specifically. If he was coming to her instead of Dr. Ziegler, he must put a lot of faith in her abilities. That, or he was desperate. She gave him a cursory once-over, beginning to ponder his mystery condition. He looked fine, if a bit tired, but she knew that physical appearance alone wasn’t enough to determine such things. “I’m still unpacking, unfortunately, which severely limits my ability to do major work. But I will let you know when my lab is set up if you decide you still want to consult me.”

            “Thank you, Doctor. By the way, I’ll need your measurements.”

            She smirked. “Looking to do a little science of your own, Commander?”

            Reyes let out an inelegant snort. “Hardly. We need to get you fitted for a proper uniform and body armor. I don’t think any of Blackwatch’s current gear with fit you. At least not well.” He cleared his throat and straightened. “I’d tell you about dress code until then, but-“ his gaze flicked up and down her, “just keep wearing this. Or similar. At least until we get your uniform in.”

            “Of course.” She turned away and picked up her list.

            “Oh, and I expect you to start hitting the gym. You’re Blackwatch now, so I’m going to have to train you. Tomorrow, 1600 hours. Gym’s on the second level, third door on your right. Don’t be late.”

            A sigh rose in her throat, stifled by instinct. _Waste of time._ “Good day, Commander.” She stepped back into her lab space as the door closed, rolling her eyes, and returned to her inventory.

*******************

Hi folks; I'm making major updates to this to help it flow/hone the characterizations a great deal. I feel like  this fic in particular really needed it. So don't be too upset if chapters go missing; this is intentional, and they will return soon. 

This chapter's a bit shorter; sorry. But there will be more to follow soon. 


	3. Settling In

Reyes settled at his desk, clutching a mug of coffee, and glanced over the latest suspected Talon activity report.

            _Assassination…._

_Intercepted black market weapons shipment…_

_Suspicious transfer of funds…_

He yawned. Same old, same old from Talon, if all of this really could be traced back to them. Still, it would require Overwatch to mobilize if these incidents were linked. Apparently Athena needed some additional time and input to verify this, and he decided not to worry about it right now. He took another sip of lukewarm caffeine, then paused, frowning into the dark liquid. Maybe his fatigue was something he should report. He just thought it inconsequential, chalking it up to insomnia and drowning it in coffee. He wondered what, if anything, the two doctors would make of it. Angela would probably act all concerned, but Moira…He still didn’t have a good idea of how, exactly, the geneticist would react, but he didn’t put her laughing at him past her. Speaking of which…

            He checked the time and started. For all his lecturing her about not being late, _he_ was the one running five minutes behind. He grabbed his gym clothes and bolted, and by the time he got there and changed, he discovered Moira was already present, jogging on the treadmill, earbuds in to drown out the exercise machine’s annoying humming. She wore somewhat baggy workout clothing that she probably borrowed from someone else, but she glanced over at him and smirked, not breaking stride from her run, her face barely pinked from exertion. _McCree was right_. She absolutely looked like some mythical creature of the night, what with her nearly-skeletal appearance, her unusual height, and her very pale skin that apparently refused to hold any color.

            He waved her over. She obligingly stopped the treadmill and pulled her earbuds out.

            “Commander Reyes.”

            “Doctor.” He folded his hands behind his back. “You’re part of the team now, and I’ve got to train you whether you end up coming with us or not.”

            She raised a sharp eyebrow. “You expect me to fight with you, though I have no combat experience?”

            “You need to be able to defend yourself. I trust you’re familiar with the Overwatch dossier I sent you by now, and are therefore familiar with Overwatch’s enemies?”

            “I am.”

            “Then you know they’ll do a whole lot worse than knock you on your ass. Mimic me.” He moved to the center of the exercise mats and assumed a martial arts stance, his weight balanced, his fists up.

            “I fail to see the point of this if they’re carrying guns.”

            “It’s protocol. Now get over here.”

            She scowled at him but joined him, settling into a stance that mirrored his own.

            “Rule one, Doc; don’t get hit. You can dodge or block, but you gotta not take a hit in order to hit back.”

            He coached her through several blocks, adjusting her stance and technique where he needed to. They worked through several techniques together, making rapid progress. She got a little short with him when he tried to correct her, but she caught on quickly, a fortunate thing, since the fatigue that he’d been experiencing had returned with a side of dizziness included, which grew steadily more intense.  Moira appraised him silently every time he faced her, her gaze piercing him, silently asking the question that he didn’t want to acknowledge. He knew he should cut the session short to avoid passing out right in front of the doctor, but he didn’t want to spend more time training her than really necessary; cutting the training short meant he’d have to carve more time out of his already-packed schedule to try to fit in lessons he could have finished today. He’d hired the woman for her brains, not her brawn, and it was highly unlikely that she would be cleared for missions. Still, he liked to make sure his team was well-equipped enough to handle most situations, and this was simply a step towards that well-equipped team.

            So when Jesse entered, he could practically hear a hallelujah chorus, despite the evil eye the cowboy gave the pair of them before crossing to the weights. He let Jesse do a couple of sets before making up his mind.

            “Good,” he remarked as the geneticist blocked yet another punch. He turned and called across the gym. “Hey Jesse! Come here.”

            Moira said nothing as the cowboy set his weights down with a little more force than necessary, her gaze tracking his movement as he made his way over.

            “Yeah?”

            “I want you to go a few rounds with the doc. Play nice now; she’s brand new to this.”

            Jesse stared at him as though he’d gone mad for a long moment, then crossed the floor and took his place.

            “Start when you’re ready,” he told them, crossing to a bench and sitting down heavily on it. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a long moment, willing the dizziness away. Someone grunted, and he heard the smack of a body hitting the mat. He opened his eyes. Jesse stood over a disgruntled-looking Moira, half-heartedly holding out a hand, which the Irish woman ignored as she got to her feet. She cast a glance back at him.

            “Don’t get distracted. If you do, you’re done,” he advised her. Her response was a mere twitch of an eyebrow before she turned back to the cowboy. This time he watched them. Jesse’s blows were heavy but well-placed, using his considerable weight to keep him from losing his balance. He would have hit too, but... _god was Moira fast_. She ducked and blocked and weaved, making up for her lack of strength or knowledge in agility and even landing a few blows herself. He hadn’t been able to see that while teaching her, as stop-and-go as the lessons were, but she was impressive for having taken no lessons herself.

            “Alright, stop,” he called after a few minutes. The two combatants broke apart. “Doctor, you can go. Well done.”

            She glanced in his direction, smoothed her slightly sweaty hair back, then left. _Odd._ He got to his feet.   _Dammit._ The dizziness had returned as soon as he stood up, and he hobbled over to Jesse. 

            “Thanks for the assist. I need to go talk to Angela,” he said, clapping a hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

The cowboy’s smoldering expression vanished, replaced by concern. “You gonna be okay, Gabriel?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just dehydrated. You?”

Jesse shrugged. “I’m fine. Just bruised the pride, s’all.”

“I know you don’t like her. I’m not asking you to. Just…maybe pretend not to hate her so much?”

The cowboy grimaced. “I can try, but I ain’t promising you anything.”

“You did pretty good just now.”

“Thanks. I tried not to hurt her.” He chuckled shortly. “Figured I’d break her in half if I actually hit her full force.”

“Yeah, she sure does look breakable.”

“See you around, Commander.”

“Same.” Reyes nodded and left the sweaty stink of the gym behind. Upon returning to his room, he took a long shower, trying to compose an email to Angela in his head. He sat down at his computer, flipped it on, and opened his emails. _One new message_. From Moira, no content, just a long title that told him why she wanted to get his attention.

_The lab is set up. Come see me. We need to talk. Bring your medical records._

_********_

**A/N:**  I wanted to capture the agility that Overwatch's developers supposedly designed Moira with. So this happened...  
Hope you liked it! More to come soon!

Go dtí go gcomhlíonfaimid arís!


	4. Legitimate Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel visits Moira on her request and gets more than he bargained for. Moira begins the process of gathering information about her employer's condition.

_____________________________________________________________

Gabriel raised a hand, pausing centimeters away from knocking, his thoughts churning. This wasn’t a visit he _wanted_ to make by any means; he knew full well what this was about, and he also knew that once he started down this shady path, there might not be any going back. _You hired her_ , the other part of himself argued. _Are you going to use her to help yourself or not? You’re not getting any better on your own…_

He rapped his knuckles against the door, which obligingly opened to reveal the tall, slight redhead.

“Mr. Reyes. Do come in.” She stepped aside, gesturing to her lab. He looked around. Clean glassware gleamed on the dustless countertops, unidentifiable machinery dotted like white icebergs in a sea of glass and steel. Only one surface was completely cleared, and that was the long metal table in the middle of the room.

 “I noticed you were acting…off…during my lessons. Are you feeling all right?” She asked, peering intently at him.

“Yeah…just sometimes I get dizzy spells.” He grunted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Is this related to your condition?”

He shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Have they been getting worse?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Headaches?” She asked, retrieving a pen and clipboard and beginning to take notes.

He nodded.

“How are you sleeping?”

He squinted at her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Uh…I haven’t really been.”

“Drinking a lot of coffee?”

“I kinda have to.”

“If you haven’t been drinking more water than usual, then it’s likely you’re dehydrated. I don’t currently have the tools to deal with that, so you’ll have to see someone else for that.” She held out a hand. “Your records, please.”

He passed his records over to her, and her attention turned to the papers. She thumbed through them, combing carefully over the information, then suddenly closed a hand on them, crumpling them. “This is slightly better than useless to me,” she said, tossing the records onto a counter. “Who did these tests?”

“Angela Ziegler. What’s wrong with them?”

She snorted. “Of course. Smart woman. Good doctor. Terrible scientist.”

Gabriel bristled, his eyes glimmering with anger. “She’s been patching us up for years now. How is she “terrible”, exactly?”

“She has no record of which of your gene segments specifically are affected by this genetic damage, and she has no plan to attempt to repair them.”

He frowned. “She told me she was working on it.”

Again Moira raised a thin eyebrow. “Oh really? What exactly has she proposed to do about your condition?”

Gabriel thought for a moment. “She didn’t say,” he admitted. “But she _has_ been doing a lot of research.”

“I’m sure she has,” O’Deorain said, her tone slightly sarcastic. She carefully smoothed back a lock of hair that was slipping out of place. “And you still sought my assistance.”

“I need answers.”

“So do I, if I’m to help you. Will you let me examine you and form my own conclusions? The sooner I have data, the sooner we can find a cure, a _real_ cure, to your problem.”

He sighed. Saying no was only putting off the inevitable. “Fine.”

She smiled and gestured to the steel lab bench. “Shall we?”

 The sound of running water reached his ears as he sat down on the table; she was washing her hands. He grimaced. _Great._ Her cold hands would be even colder.

“So is this the bit where you take a DNA sample and try to figure out how to turn me into a lizard?” He asked, only half-joking.

Moira smiled faintly. “Mr. Reyes, despite whatever you may think of me, do try to keep in mind I am a fully-qualified doctor, and contrary to my infamous record, your best interest is my best interest, as I have told all my previous patients. I know what I’m doing.”

  _And there it was_. The inevitable truth. He’d read her file; most of the complaints from Moira’s detractors ran along the lines of improperly-tested treatments and the possible threat they posed as opposed to patient records of harm Moira had done. Moira _was_ a doctor, a damn good one, and seeing as how he’d brushed off Angela’s help as inadequate, he had to make a wild leap of faith that she wasn’t going to perform some test on him that transformed him into a sentient pile of sludge.

 She turned to him. “Take your shirt off.”

He made a face of disgust but did as she asked, glancing back at her as she circled behind him. He could feel her gaze raking over him, taking him in. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold-induced goosebumps rising on his arms shook him.

“It is a bit cold in here, Mr. Reyes. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quick.”

“It’s not the cold,” he said, only a half-lie.

Then I’m the problem?” She asked. Her fingers-just as he expected; _freezing-_ settled on his shoulders. The talons on her right hand tapped against his collarbone and pectoral muscles, a subtle reminder of what she had, at some point, done to herself. But her touch was remarkably gentle. “Is the thought of coming to me for help so abhorrent, even though I am a fully-qualified doctor?”

“I didn’t mean-“

She cut him off, her lilting voice chiding but gentle. “Of course you didn’t mean that. You fear the unknown, a natural reaction. But you are under no obligation to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling like a fool. He wasn’t a child; she shouldn’t have to talk to him like one. “Look, let’s just get this over with, okay?”

“Certainly, Mr. Reyes.”

She picked up something from her collection of tools and returned with a blood pressure cuff. He tried to put his mind elsewhere as she checked his blood pressure and pupils, his reflexes, his heart rate, his breathing, far too interested in the process of examining him to make small talk like Angela did. Far too interested in examining him _period_ , he thought. He felt less like a human being under her gaze than an insect under a microscope. His mind flitted back to her past and the lab animals she had _surely_ used at one point, wondering if she analyzed test animals in the exact same way she was now examining him. Was there even a distinction in her mind?

_Fuck off,_ he snapped at the thought. _You’re being paranoid._

“We’re almost finished,” she told him, pulling the stethoscope from her ears. She tapped the table with her daggerlike nails. “Lay down for me, please.”

He grimaced again. _At least she was polite_ , he thought, as he lowered himself flat onto the block of ice that passed as her lab table. To his surprise, she caught his head to keep him from banging it on the metal, her mismatched eyes peering into his own, a slight smile lingering around the corners of her mouth. He folded his arms defensively across his chest, his whole body tensing slightly.

“Relax, Mr. Reyes. You don’t think I’d hurt my commander, do you?”

He broke eye contact. _She had a point_. If Overwatch found out O’Deorain was using their members as lab rats, she’d be tossed out on her ass faster than he could say _science_. And likely thrown into jail, to boot. All he’d have to do was report her, and his superiors would listen. She _had_ to know that; the stipulations regarding misconduct were by no means subtle, and she didn’t strike him as the kind of person that only gave cursory glances at her contracts. He knew she’d joined Overwatch for funding, and he was pretty sure she wouldn’t risk it all for a few experiments she might manage rope him into using his situation as leverage. At least, not yet.

Her cold hands pressed against his gut, making him jump a little at the contact. He glanced down. She glanced back at him.

“Pain?” She asked.

“No,” he responded. She continued her exploration. He could ‘t help but feel a little amazed at the delicacy she displayed; she hadn’t scratched him once, not even with her talons.

“Feelings?” She queried.

“Bored. Uncomfortable. Mind buzzing with other things I could be doing.”

“But those other things all fall apart if your health is not taken into account. Expediency when it comes to one’s health is a dangerous thing,” she told him softly.

“Like the decision I made to come to you, I guess.”

Moira let out a soft, short chuckle. “That decision seems more like a necessity rather than an attempted shortcut. If you didn’t have need of me, you wouldn’t have come to me. Or is that assuming too much?”

“No, you’re pretty much right, Doctor,” he sighed. No point trying to hide it; with how much Overwatch actively despised her, any statement by him saying he didn’t need her would just sound like blatant denial.

O’Deorain simply smiled at him in a self-satisfied way, then stepped back. “Well, Mr. Reyes, physically, you’re in optimal shape. I assume that has something to do with the SEP program?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

She made a thoughtful noise. “You can sit up now. And put your shirt back on if you’re cold.”

He gratefully pushed himself off the hard table and slipped his t-shirt back over his goosebump-studded skin. The Irish doctor returned, her hands now covered in sterile gloves, bearing a tray of tools that made him wince. Moira scoffed at his reaction, missing nothing.

“Come now. You’ve had blood taken before. It won’t hurt _that_ much.”

He let her take and stretch his arm, staring at the opposite wall while she did her thing. It was all familiar, of course; the snap of the tourniquet, the cold damp and sharp scent of alcohol, the doctor’s gentle warning of discomfort. Angela had done this a million times. But O’Deorain… she was a whole different breed of cat, like the fat, spoiled tabby his mother used to have that would purr at him while he petted it, only to suddenly turn on him and sink its claws into his unsuspecting hand. He knew it would happen, but he could never predict when, and the way it used to roll at his feet was irresistible to ten-year-old Gabriel. His brother used to call him “Gullible Gabe” due to his trusting nature, a nickname that, looking back on it, wasn’t wrong.

He winced as Moira’s needle pinched his arm. He supposed he always would be Gullible Gabe. He’d trusted that damn cat not to claw him. He’d trusted the Soldier Enhancement Program not to royally screw him or his best buddy, Jack, up. He’d trusted Overwatch to let him make a decision on the science department employee without judging him, an employee that he now had to hide from Overwatch proper. And now here he was, trusting an estranged scientist with dubious morals to fix the scrambled fuck-up that was the current state of his genes. _You’ll never learn,_ his brother taunted in his head. He supposed he wouldn’t.

“You’re quiet, Mr. Reyes.”

            He glanced at her; she was pressing a cotton ball to the puncture on his arm. “Oh. Yeah.”

            “Thoughts?”

            “Not really. Just remembering things.”

            “Something in particular?”

            “My brother. Just a nickname he used to call me.”

            She didn’t press the issue. “You may go. We both have work to do, at any rate.”

            His gaze drifted to the five sealed vials of his blood ( _damn_ that was fast for five), and he fought back a shiver. “Uh…yeah.”

            “I will need your SEP records at some point, by the way.”

            He slid off the lab table and straightened. “Well, that will have to wait. Overwatch has a mission lined up, so I’ll be gone for a couple days.”

            “Let me remind you, Mr. Reyes, that I cannot make progress without those records. Sooner or later I will need them if you still want treatment.”

            He grunted. “Right. Don’t fuck me up, O’Deorain.”

            “Of course not,” she responded, her back already turned to him and busy at her machines. “If you have need of anything, Commander, do come see me. I’ll send the results as soon as I can.”

            He left the lab without a backward glance and rubbed at his stomach, trying to erase the nonexistent fingerprints the geneticist’s freezing hands seemed to have pressed into his very skin.  

*************************

**AN:** This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I do so enjoy scaring the crap out of the characters in a story. Or at the very least, making them  _really_ uncomfortable...

I hope this was as much fun to read as it was for me to write!

Addendum: I still haven't a clue how formatting works here, so I apologize if it's a little effed-up. 


	5. Family Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes continues to hide his condition from Overwatch proper. Moira gets a taste of newfound power.

*************************************

“My, my, Mr. Reyes. You _are_ a fascinating human being.” She held Reyes’ blood up to the light, admiring the deep ruby coloration it acquired when held to a light source. “I suppose the question is why you didn’t tell me this several days ago.”

            Reyes was out on mission, leaving her to make what she could of the blood samples she’d taken from him. Already her analyses had told her much more about Reyes than the cagey Blackwatch commander would admit. As she expected, his condition did not have particular physical manifestations; after all, the genetic problem he’d so vaguely brought up affected his mind, not his body. At least that’s what his genes told her, and genetics didn’t lie. His genes had been damaged by a rather unique environmental factor that she had seen just twice before, and his record confirmed the source of the damage; the godforsaken, badly-tested, hastily-utilized SEP serum, that, while greatly enhancing the body in the short-term, had devastating effects in the long-term. Ironically enough, though, it was a sample of this very same serum that she needed to continue making progress. She needed to know how, exactly, the serum worked on DNA before she could reverse its effects.

            Which left her at a current impasse in her work.

            She sighed and put the sample back in the cooler, mulling over the data she’d already gathered. The problem sequences had been identified, the possible side-effects stemming from the genetic damage documented. But she needed more. The SEP program had probably run their candidates through a genetic screening process and taken sequences before and after administering the serum to show the progress they’d made. The lack of said records and the commander’s unwillingness to share frustrated her. She combed her fingers through her hair and leaned back, forcibly blowing out a breath. She’d have to talk to him when he returned and make sure they were on the same page as far as the data she needed.

            A knock at the door startled her, and she sat upright.

            “Doctor? There’s a package for you,” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door. “Commander Reyes says your uniform’s come in.”

            Moira stood up and opened the door. One of the base’s lackeys stood outside, a large box cradled against his chest, his Overwatch ID clipped to his pocket.

            “Thank you. Put it there.” She pointed to her cleared lab table.

            “The commander also said that he ordered you some lab equipment and other things that should be coming in soon,” the young man said.

            “I see.” She analyzed the deliveryman. He really was a young thing, more a boy than a man, a feeling only accentuated by the baseball cap emblazoned with the Overwatch logo perched on his messy hair.

            “If anything doesn’t fit, the commander said to let him know.” He added, his eyes darting around her lab.

            “Is that all?”

            He shifted underneath her stare. “Uh, yes ma’am.” He tipped the brim of his baseball cap. “I can see you’re busy so I’ll…” He jabbed a thumb towards the door.

            She nodded once and retrieved a pair of scissors, slicing the tape sealing the package with a few quick, precise strokes. A note sat on the folded square of black inside. She picked it up and read it. The first half was just a repetition of the severity of her contract, but thin, messy handwriting covered the bottom half of the paper.

            _Doc,_

            _Ordered these special for you. There should be some more supplies for your lab on the way as well, along with a new exam table._

            She smirked at that. Poor Gabriel. He really was uncomfortable with her, wasn’t he? He had to be, especially if he was complaining about things as basic as the lab table.

            _Strike Commander Morrison would like to see how you are settling in. If I am on mission when you receive this note, I will be returning with him. He will expect a full report on planned advancements and squad integration, so be ready to give it. Make sure your uniform is washed and fits correctly as well. Familiarize yourself with the details of your cover and get used to using it. I don’t want to wind up looking like an idiot because you didn’t do your homework._

            _Commander Reyes_

_P.S: The Hippocratic oath may not apply to you, but keep my treatment confidential. I do not want anyone knowing about our…arrangement… unless it’s necessary._

She scoffed at this last line (of _course_ she would keep his medical file confidential), put the note aside and extracted her new uniform. Dark, tight-fitting shirt, white pants, some lightweight, short-sleeved clothing clearly intended as exercise wear. She put a pressed jacket complete with Blackwatch patches and beret aside, revealing a folded square of white at the bottom. Intrigued, she picked it up, and her smile broadened as she beheld the object.

            A brand-new lab coat unfolded before her eyes, once again bearing the animal-skull ID patch. Admittedly, the matching red-and-black accents didn’t look as suave as the royal purple on her old coat, but, personal preferences aside, the coat itself was clearly high-quality and probably fairly expensive, tailored to her tall, thin form. She carefully took her old coat off and folded it, draping it over a chair before trying on her new coat. To her utter lack of surprise, it fit perfectly. She fastened the clasps, still smiling, and pulled her new ID out of the breast pocket, glancing over the details of her cover identity. _Oh yes._ She tucked her ID back into her pocket, then touched the emblem on her shoulder fondly. _Finally_ she was getting some well-deserved respect.

Just like her new lab coat, this position at Blackwatch would fit her perfectly.

***********************

            Adistinctive laugh echoed from the mess hall as Reyes entered. Jesse sat at a table with Tracer and Reinhardt, his feet up on the table, an unlighted cigar between his fingers, a grin plastered across his face. The cards on the table between the three lay forgotten beside plates of half-finished chicken and rice. Ana watched from another table, conversing quietly with Angela’s right-hand man, Dr. Rosenberg. Her eyes flicked to him as he entered and tracked him across the floor as he retrieved his own plate of food.

            “Come join us, Reyes!” Reinhardt bellowed jovially, his whitening facial hair not entirely hiding his ruddy cheeks. Reyes sat beside McCree, who scrutinized him from beneath the brim of his hat.

            “Deal ya in, boss?” McCree asked him.

            “No, I’m all right.”

            “I haven’t seen you in a while, Gabriel,” Tracer said. She always reminded Reyes of a small, brightly-colored bird, agile and attentive, her high voice almost like chirps. “How have you been?”

            Reyes smiled tiredly at her. “I’m all right, Oxton. You?”

            “Never been better.” She elbowed Reinhardt. “Tell Reyes your joke. Go on!”

            Reinhardt chuckled and repeated the joke, and amid gales of fresh laughter from Tracer, he noticed Jesse was still staring at him, chewing pensively on his unlit cigar.

            “Stop staring. It’s suspicious,” he hissed at the cowboy, who shot him a scowl.

            “What’s that, luv?” Tracer asked breathlessly, wiping tears from her eyes.

            “Personal stuff, Lena. Don’t worry about it,” Reyes told her.

            McCree grumbled darkly. Tracer’s attention swiveled to him. “Honestly, what _is_ going on with you two?”

            “Bit of an argument. Nothin’ more.” Jesse said, waving the comment away as though it was cigar smoke.

            Tracer shrugged. “If you say so.” She slouched and picked up her cards. “Let’s finish this game sometime in the next year, yeah?” She winked at McCree.

            Reyes watched them laugh and shout and bicker over their hands. Reinhardt claimed to have seen her slip a card up her sleeve or back into the deck, which Tracer adamantly denied, though her mischievous smirk gave her away. Reyes listened and watched as the card game wore on, soaking it in as he ate. It was so refreshing to be away from the sterile med-bay and stuffy labs, to just forget his own troubles for a little while. Even his concerned and grumpy subordinate seemed to forget he was there, joining in Reinhardt’s accusations of Lena’s quick-fingered cheating.

            The game ended with Tracer finally admitting to rigging the game by using her abilities to swap out cards she didn’t want. Reyes quietly picked up his plate in the commotion and went to the sink to wash it. Ana approached, also carrying her own dish.

            “Gabriel,” she acknowledged.

            “Ana.”

            “Dr. Ziegler was looking for you.” The sniper said gently. “She said you’ve been avoiding her.”

            Reyes almost heard the sound of his bubble of normality pop. His soapy fork slipped from his loose fingers and fell into the metal basin with a clang.

            “I recommend speaking with her, if only to hear what she has to say. It seemed…rather important.” She put a hand on Reyes’ shoulder comfortingly.

            He sighed irritably. “Fine, I’ll speak to her.”

            “She’s in her office.”

            He reached back into the sink for his plate, but Ana caught his arm.

            “You should go. I’ll finish your dishes for you.”

            He numbly let her push him out of the way, wiped his hands on the dish towel, and left. Ana was simply one of those people it was nearly impossible to argue with; she always acted so collected and calm, especially when dealing with stressed-out individuals. Angela had to have told her at least something, damn her. But Ana kept her secrets, and he could trust her to keep quiet about other people’s affairs. The fewer people in Overwatch knew, the better. They didn’t need the distraction.

            He made his way to Ziegler’s office. The door sat cracked open, and he heard fevered murmuring coming from inside. He pushed the door aside to reveal a ruffled-looking Angela sitting at her computer chewing on a pen, paperwork piled nearly a foot high over every inch of her desk. Strands of her hair had escaped her tight ponytail and curled around her face, an untouched plate of food laying ignored by her elbow.

            “Angela.”

            She started and scrambled to her feet.

            “You know pens aren’t edible, right?”

            She took the pen out of her mouth and tucked it in a pocket. “Oh, yes. Do come in, Gabriel,” she said distractedly, smoothing back her frizzing hair. She hastened to remove another stack of papers from a chair and motioned to it.

Reyes sat. “How much did you tell Amari?”

            Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinning at the accusation. “Just that I wanted to talk to you. I wouldn’t violate patient confidentiality. You know that.”

            He glanced away. “Fine. What do you want, then?”

            Angela’s face softened. “I didn’t want to leave you upset a couple days ago, but I couldn’t get ahold of you. Are you doing all right?”

            He sighed and leaned back. “As well as I can, all things considered.” His gaze traveled to one of her little cartoon angel statuettes that Overwatch members insisted on bringing her. It had an oversized head and smile, painted blushing cheeks, squinty eyes and tiny wings. It held a heart between its tiny mitten-like hands. Angela suddenly gasped.

            “Gabriel, what happened to your arms?”

            He straightened and tried to cover the fading bruises. “Nothing.”

            She got up and picked up his arm, peering at the healing injuries. “That’s _not_ nothing, Gabriel. How old are those?”

            He sighed irritably. “Look, I’m getting some other medical help. It’s not a big deal, Angela. Really.”

            She looked up at him, pinning him with the full force of her calculating stare “Who?”

            “A genetics specialist. They’re just not as skilled as you are with needles.” He said, tugging his arm away. He suspected that Moira _was_ as skilled as Angela and the Irish woman just didn’t _care_ all that much about being careful, but he would try to deflect Angela’s questions and worries as much as possible. There was no way he would willingly tell Angela that _Moira O’Deorain_ was his consult. The knowledge would give the Swiss doctor an aneurysm.

            “Be careful, Gabriel. I’m glad you’re getting outside help, but altering genetics is a dangerous business,” Angela said, concern lacing her voice.

            “You worry too much,” Reyes countered.

            “And you don’t worry enough. Besides, that’s what I get paid to do.” She sat back down. “I’ve been doing some research for you.”

            Reyes looked around at the stacks of papers, astonishment washing over him. “All of this?”

            She laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Gabriel. It’s not all yours.”

            He knew what she was implying. _Not all, but most of it._ “Thanks, Doc. I. appreciate it. I really do.” He rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m sorry if I was short with you, but between Torbjorn’s threats to leave, Reinhardt’s retirement and this,” he gestured to the papers, “I…just have a lot on my mind.”

            “Of course you do. We all do.”

            “I’m amazed you can concentrate. You’re bloody incredible, as Tracer might say.”

            She shrugged and smiled modestly at the floor. “I just do what keeps me occupied.”

            “Research. Right.” He got to his feet. “Well, keep up the good work. We couldn’t do it without you.”

“Let me know if you need any information. I’d be glad to give it to you. Get some rest before the mission.” She turned back to her computer and put her abused pen back in her mouth, smiling around the plastic.

            He snorted “You too. And for gods’ sakes, eat something that’s actually food!”

*****************************

      **A/N:** Poor Gabe. I think the weight of his own mortality is catching up with him a little bit...


	6. Another Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack vets Moira as a competent member of Blackwatch and expresses his concerns to a friend.

 **********************************

            “So, Reyes…are you going to show me your pet mad scientist?” Commander Morrison asked, his voice and their footsteps echoing inside Blackwatch’s hangar and through the hallways as they wound their way through the base.

            Gabriel chuckled. “I assume that’s who you came all this way to see, yeah?”

            Jack shrugged. “ _Somebody’s_ got to keep an eye on your growing list of crazies down here.”

            “You just don’t trust her.”

            “No,” Jack agreed. “Do you?”

            “Not really, no. But treating her like she’s going to explode at any second won’t help the problem of her possibly dangerous behavior. At least we can actually watch her and make some use of her talents.”

            Jack’s rugged face fell from a crooked smile to a frown. “Don’t tell me you went to her already.”

            Gabriel shrugged. “Thought about it. If Angela can’t help, maybe she can. We both know I’m in pretty serious trouble health-wise. ” He threw a sideways glance at Jack. “Maybe she’ll catch things Angela would miss with you too.”

            Jack scoffed. “Hell no. I’m not that desperate.” His voice dipped, grating a little in exhaustion. “I’m just sorry you are. It sucks to know you’re at her mercy if Angela can’t help you.”

            “She’s not _all_ bad, Jack. She’s damn good at what she does, and  she’s practically _enslaved_ herself to her work. I met with her once, and she keeps telling me she’s a professional and not to worry.”

            “Yeah? What does the rest of your team make of that?”

            “Mostly the others keep away from her. I don’t think Jesse would take her help even if he _was_ mortally wounded.”

            “So I’ve heard. He sent me a note about how much he disapproves of your choice. You should address the issue before it gets out of hand. McCree might break her like a toothpick if it comes to blows.”

            “She’s tougher than she looks,” Gabriel pointed out. “I’ve seen her during sparring.”

            “I’m not clearing her for missions, Reyes, and neither is Gerard. It’s too dangerous to have a civilian interfering with our teamwork.”

            “She learns damn fast, though, Jack. If I can teach her something useful-“

            “I still wouldn’t recommend training her beyond what’s absolutely necessary. You, Genji, and Jesse seem to be a cohesive unit as it is, and seeing what Jesse thinks of O’Deorain, I don’t think incorporating her into Blackwatch’s combat unit will do much good unless she picks up some _serious_ weapon skills.”

            “Guess you’ll have a chance to ask her yourself.”

            The pair of them stopped in front of Blackwatch’s lab door, and Gabriel banged on it. The geneticist appeared a few minutes later, leaning against the door frame and glaring into the hall, looking decidedly grumpy at the interruption. She straightened when she saw Morrison.

            “Commander Reyes, Commander Morrison.” She greeted them stiffly, her arms tucked neatly behind her back. “I presume this is not solely a social call. You wouldn’t come from Gibraltar just on my account,” she postulated, her gaze fixed on Morrison and his blond mop of hair.

            “Correct. I’m also here to assess your projects. I’ve been told you’re hard at work on something, and I want to make sure that your work is a productive use of our funds.”

            Moira cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to find _something_ to suit your interests. I’m not one to waste material.” She stepped aside. “Do come in, but kindly don’t touch anything.”

            Gabriel followed Morrison into the lab, noticing the suspicious scrutiny with which Jack glanced around. The doctor had continued setup of her lab and had partially-constructed bits and pieces strewn across her lab surfaces.

            “What are these for?” Morrison asked, pointing to a particularly large jumble.

            “Parts for synthesizers and incubators to fill my various needs. My work is more efficient when the equipment is specified to my needs, which will save valuable time and money.”

            “I want the schematics and the shipping lists for these parts.”

            “As you wish, Commander,” Moira responded, twitching an eyebrow and executing a little half-bow. “I assure you they’ve already been cross-checked by Overwatch proper, but whatever puts your mind at ease. But do get back to me rather quickly, would you?  I would be remiss if I didn’t attend to Blackwatch’s needs, and already I have had members asking for my help.”

            Jack gave her a look, one of those scrutinizing gazes that always told Gabriel Morrison was trying to decide whether or not to take issue with something said or done. Reyes caught Moira’s gaze and gave his head a subtle but noticeable shake. _Don’t push it._

Jack fell silent after prompting Moira to list her project ideas. Gabriel half-listened, his gaze flickering over the vials and beakers and machinery and papers as the scientist waxed eloquent about the many fields she thought Blackwatch might benefit in from her explorations. A skewed stack of papers near her computer caught his eye, and he pulled the file that had caught his eye from the stack. His eyes flicked over the title: _Nanobiotics: Applying Microsurgeons for Neogenesis, Genetic Editing, and Triggered Apoptosis._ His mind stuck on the first word, and he frowned, his gaze flicking through the In Brief section to try to make more sense of it. Suspicion jabbed at him; nanobiotics were Angela’s tech, something she was desperate to keep under wraps, fearing that it could be misused. What was _Moira_ doing with it?

“Jack,” he called, revealing his suspicious find. Morrison came clumping over and peered at the paper, followed by a clearly disgruntled Moira, who also glanced at it briefly before crossing her arms.

 “My nanobiotics. One of my more interesting projects. Is there a problem with this, Commander?”

Morrison scowled at her. “Would you care to explain why you have an unreleased technology?”

She snorted inelegantly and raised a single sharp eyebrow. “I believe what you meant to ask is why Ziegler has _my_ research. I was working with nanobiotics while Dr. Ziegler was still in medical school, but due to my prolonged…absence from the scientific field, I fell rather behind in my projected work schedule. I strongly believe Ziegler’s work was,” she grimaced, “ _inspired_ by my own work.”

Gabriel mentally slapped himself hard. _Idiot._ Moira’s explanation made sense; nanobiotics _were_ an extremely efficient technology. Of courseZiegler had seen the potential in their use in medicine, had been refining them for years based on an initial design she had said she wouldn’t and shouldn’t take credit for.

Jack recoiled slightly, apparently not so easily convinced. “You would claim Ziegler stole your research?”

“Not so much stole my results as came up with the same solution to a similar problem. I do not take issue with her because she used my research; I take issue with the fact she passed my research off as immoral and then proceeded to _use_ it to get her results.”

Morrison gave her another scrutinizing look. Gabriel put the paper down and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sure if the doctor has proof, she’ll be happy to share with us.”

            Moira tipped her head at him. “I certainly will, Commander, and as soon as I get five minutes I ‘ll send the relevant information along.”

Jack’s face softened into a slightly more sympathetic expression. “Sorry about the skepticism, O’Deorain, but Dr. Ziegler has a right to protect her research from…malicious intent, if that’s what she wants done with it.”

“I may not agree with your skepticism, Commander, but I do understand it. I would want my research properly protected and used as well.” She smiled thinly.

            “How are you settling in otherwise?”

            “I keep to myself, and for the most part the rest of Blackwatch doesn’t bother me. Commander Reyes has been, for the most part, quite accommodating, and the others are more or less distant but respectful.”

             “Good. Keep working; your first funding check should be coming in within a week.”

            Moira’s smile widened. “Grand. I look forward to it.”

            “I want your updates as well,” Jack said firmly.

            “Of course,” the doctor responded smoothly, drawing herself up in a salute. Morrison returned the salute, then beckoned to Gabriel. Jack turned to him as the lab door slid closed behind the two men, his face clouded with concern.

            “What do you think?” Gabriel prompted.

            “She’s efficient. She’s also pretentious with a hint of crazy. But,” he sighed, his attention focused elsewhere, “if she can obey command structure and produce without causing problems, then I suppose she’s welcome to stay.”

            “She needs live specimens in order to produce. I assume you saw her request for a dozen rabbits?”

            Jack winced. “Yes. Poor little bastards. But I suppose it’s better than trying to get the members of Blackwatch to participate in her work. Which I hope you’ll tell me if she attempts to rope you or Genji into, right?”

            “Come on, Jack. How long have we known each other?” He nudged his CO’s ribs with an elbow.

            “Good point.” His brow furrowed, and he folded his arms . “I know Overwatch and her have a bad history and I try not to let that get in the way, but I can’t help but not like her. I just can’t trust her as easily as you do.”

            “Maybe just give her some time. She’ll produce given her funding. I don’t think she _wouldn’t_ want to.”

            He drummed thick fingers against the sleeve of his blue jacket. “It’s not the product of her work that concerns me. It’s the method and the possibility you and your team might get dragged in.”

            Gabriel chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You’re starting to sound like Angela.”

            “Well, excuse me for being concerned.”

            “You’ll make yourself sick worrying,” Gabriel said, patting Jack firmly on the back. “Besides, the admins have it under control, and if there’s an issue, I’ll bring it up with them.”

            Jack sighed. “ All right. I trust your judgement.” His voice bounced as the pair of them re-entered the hangar. They stopped in front of Jack’s ride. “By the way, Reyes, what did you want that SEP serum sample for?”

            Gabriel shrugged. “The doc wants it for study. She heard about my condition and she thought it might be smart to investigate the effects of it.”

            Jack turned to him, his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth set in a frown.

            “I’m just keeping my options open,” Reyes said before his CO could respond. “She might be finally able to get a handle on this thing if Angela can’t.”

            Jack grabbed his arm and squeezed firmly. “Just promise me that you’re only using her as a last resort.”

            Gabriel brushed him off. “ She’s a _geneticist_ , Jack. She specializes in this kind of shit. And if I wind up not trusting her, I can always take her results somewhere else. Besides, I’m pretty much out of options anyway.”

            Jack frowned. “I don’t like it, but you’re your own damn man. Don’t say I didn’t warn you if your plan goes sideways.”

            “I can handle the responsibility. Can you get me the sample or not?”

            “It will take a lot of paperwork and some time to arrive, but I’ll request it.” Jack sighed. “Just be careful with that stuff.”

“I know how dangerous it is, Jack.”

“It’s not the serum I’m worried about,” Morrison said darkly.

“I can _handle_ her. Don’t worry so much.”

“If you say so.” Jack gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Keep me updated; I want to know how things are going.” He straightened. “Take care of yourself, Gabriel.  Angela isn’t the only one who’s concerned about your health.”

“Thanks, Jack. I’ll keep that in mind.”

 **********************************************

*Gasps*

...Yes, I am still alive. I've been working on a lot of stuff that isn't the next consecutive chapter of this story, but is this story. 

This was a more difficult chapter for me to write, and I hope you can enjoy it.

Cheers and thanks for reading!


	7. Two Sides, Same Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a mission gone wrong, Reyes worries about the loss of members in Overwatch. Moira makes progress and the thoughts on her coworkers plain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for those who don't like/can't stand animal experimentation....
> 
> Depictions of animal testing in the second half of the chapter.  
> ******************

Battered, bruised, and still aching from the fighting, Gabriel lifted the mug of D-grade instant coffee to his lips, grimacing as the taste of the brew hit his tongue. _Gym socks,_ Jack had suggested when Gabriel and he had shared a mug of the stuff together one late, late night while waiting for Angela. _They use gym socks as the filter_. Gabe took another pull of the liquid and grimaced his agreement with this past assessment. All this futuristic technology, from flying cars to flying people (like Angela), and they still couldn’t make instant coffee taste any good. Or maybe Overwatch was just skimping on the coffee budget.

Either way, the flavor of the day might be gym-sock-filtered ditch-water, but he needed the caffeine.

He had to know Reinhardt was going to make it.

Angela had been in surgery with the enormous man for the past six hours, not able to share a peep with any of the rest of Overwatch. He scowled into his mug. _Goddamned Talon_ … The automated Bastion shell (probably a stripped unit from the war) had caught them completely off-guard, ripping Reinhardt almost in half and catching himself in the side, tearing a hole in his gut. Compared to Reinhardt, though, he’d gotten off lucky.

He glanced up from his coffee at Torbjorn, the short, stocky man silently glaring into his own mug as though he wished he could drown himself in the bitter drink. Probably blamed himself for the incident. Pity jabbed at him, but Torbjorn was best left alone when he was like this. Gabriel could relate. He wouldn’t want his squad-mates reminding him of what had happened so soon, his fault or not.

“How’s he doin’?”

Gabriel looked over his shoulder. Jesse had wandered in, pulling his hat off in respect. He shook his head at the cowboy.

“How about you? How are you doin’, boss?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll survive.”

“Get you a coffee?” Jesse asked, nodding at his nearly-empty mug.

 Gabriel grimaced. “Thanks, but no thanks. It sucks. Just warning you.”

Jesse shrugged and pulled a mug out of the cabinets. For a long moment there was just the sound of Jesse pouring coffee, punctuated by the sound of the door sliding back. Torbjorn got to his feet, staring at a spot behind Gabriel, who turned and scrambled to his feet.

“Angela.”

She leaned heavily on the door-frame. Her hair was spiky and frizzed with static, the circles under her eyes so pronounced it looked like she had gotten punched in both eyes, her white coat rumpled and half-buttoned.

“He’ll make it. He’s resting now. Rosenberg is looking after him.” She staggered into the mess hall and collapsed at a table. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her head drooping inches from the metal surface. Gabriel got up and took a seat next to her.

“Everything all right?”

She shook her head, staring dully at the table. “They’re going to force him into retirement. I couldn’t stop it. And after all he’s done…” Her chin nodded like a bobblehead’s. “ _Gott sei verdammnt…”_

Ceramic shattered, and Torbjorn stormed past a second later, his fists clenched. A moment of silence fell over the cafeteria. Jesse approached and placed a steaming mug by her elbow.

“When did you get the message?” Gabriel asked.

“It was just sitting there in my inbox when I got out of surgery. They didn’t even wait a _day._ I know he’s getting old,” Angela gestured helplessly, “but this is unreasonable. After all he’s done for Overwatch and they just want him _gone_ like that…”

“I agree, but maybe you should get some rest, Doc. You’ve had a hellish sixteen hours,” Reyes suggested.

“The understatement of the century,” she said with a short, bitter laugh. “And so should the pair of you if you’re leaving tomorrow.” Her face fell. “I am sorry that I couldn’t do more for you, Gabriel. It bothers me sending you off half-healed.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about me. Blackwatch has its own doctors, and I’ve been cleared by you. So I should be fine.” He patted her on the back. “Besides, I’m more worried about you.”

“I suppose it is neglectful of myself if I have my own patients worrying about me…” she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped.

“Damn right. Now get to bed.” He helped her to her feet, gritting his teeth as pain tore through his half-healed side. He winced, but the exhausted doctor didn’t notice. He escorted her to the sleeping quarters and wished her good night before finding his own empty bunk and crashing, but couldn’t find sleep, thanks to his aching side. He tossed and turned, wondering if he should get his wound checked out, but the image of the critically wounded Reinhardt came swimming into his head, watched over by an equally-exhausted Rosenberg. _Let them rest_ , he figured. _They’ve had a hard day._

The alarm woke him from a half-doze, and he rose, weary and unrested.

**********************

“Commander, you’re back. I didn’t expect you to return so soon.”

“Well, what did you expect?” He asked as Moira returned her attention to the small, fluffy mammal trembling on her lab table.

“Something less expedient, given your injury report. A lacerated small intestine and colon is by no means a minor injury. I would imagine you’d be still in hospital.”

“Got lucky. Doc Ziegler got me into surgery early. My injuries were less widespread than Reinhardt’s but more severe. He’s still recovering, though. Angela spent six and a half hours picking shells out of his gut.”

“Indeed,” she mused. “I suppose the former is easier to treat, provided the patient gets proper attention.” She looked up from the rabbit, which stayed frozen in place, quaking. “You have gotten adequate treatment, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Why?”

Her mouth and eyebrows twitched in an irritated expression. “Mr. Reyes, I am a doctor. It seems very odd to me how easy it is for you to forget that.”

He presented his hands, palms facing her. “Hey, sorry. I guess I just don’t connect the two yet. You seem preoccupied with other sciencey stuff.”

She leveled a cool, flat look at him. “Considering it’s _your_ ‘sciencey stuff’ I’m working on, I would think you’d have a bit more respect for my projects.”

“Speaking of which, how is progress?”

The irritation vanished from her face, replaced by a thin smile. “I was hoping you’d ask, actually.” She picked the animal up and carefully stowed it back in its cage, then beckoned him over. “The samples that Overwatch acquired for me were crucial to my work. Now that I have them, I have made swift progress. I’ve synthesized a cure that might work, but it still needs refinement as of yet. The test subjects show less than nominal responses after treatment, though the SEP serum’s damage appears repaired. Replacing one damage with another does you no good, so…,” she shrugged, “….testing continues. But I’m getting close.”

“Question, Doc.”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s the difference between your methods and the SEP program’s?”

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. “I knew you were smarter than your compatriots. A very good question to ask.” She sat and crossed her legs, looking no less diminished by the action. “If your question was motivated by fear, I’d take offense. But you are very right in asking, and there is a difference, and a rather sizable difference at that.” She turned to her computer and pulled up his files. “You received more injections at the SEP program than at any point in your life, including childhood, and not all of those injections were the SEP vector. They threw a huge amount of different enhancement cocktails into the mix, which I imagine is why different candidates had different reactions. No control group, no isolated variables, just varying doses of the SEP vector inflamed by the enhancement injections.” She shook her head. “All they needed was an elite fighting force, and they did away with standard testing procedures in the process. Understandable in the moment, but utterly flawed. It’s a wonder more of their candidates weren’t killed. You and Commander Morrison got very lucky, and we both understand the result of _your_ ‘good luck’.” She glanced at him. “I, on the other hand, make it a point to understand every variable in my work and how that might affect the outcome. That is why I dare to push the speed of my progress. There may be a lot of moving pieces in my projects, but I know how and why they move on a molecular level. And I use that knowledge.”

Gabriel blinked, taken aback. “You read the records?”

“Of course I did.”

He gaped at her. “But there was…I don’t know, a couple dictionaries’ worth of information in there, and I wasn’t gone on mission _that_ long.”

“I read enough to get some idea of what was going on inside your body and why you are feeling sick, and as I have previously mentioned, I’m making progress on a cure.”

One of the machines chimed, prompting Moira to stand. He watched her pop open the top of a centrifuge and pull out slim vial after slim vial of a cloudy substance.

“How long, do you think?”

“Until the cure is ready?” She hummed thoughtfully. “I cannot say with any certainty. But, if you help me with these tests, it will save me time.”

He snorted, tossing up his hands defensively. “You might want to find someone else then, Doc. I don’t know the first thing about any of your high-level science stuff.”

“And you don’t have to. All I need is an extra pair of hands for a few minutes.”

“Sounds like you need an assistant,” he suggested, watching her as she loaded one of the vials into a syringe gun with a ringing _snap._  

“Don’t be skittish, Commander. I function better when I work alone most of the time, and it’s only rarely I require a little extra help. I could do this myself, but tasks like this simply go faster when you have two people.”

He sighed. “Fine, but this is the _weirdest_ thing that anyone on base has ever asked me for.”

“I’m not surprised.” She gestured to the sink, and he washed his hands as she crossed to the cage and pulled out a rabbit. She showed him how to hold the animal, then passed it across to him. Its warm, soft weight pressed against his hands, its nose wiggling a bit. It shifted a little in his arms, its legs pressing against him, erasing any notion that this was simply a hyper-realistic animatronic. He ran a hand through its silky-soft fur.

She bent over the animal, pinching a roll of fur on its leg with one hand and leveling the needle to its hide with the other. The rabbit suddenly kicked in his arms as Moira injected it, squirming in discomfort.

“Next,” Moira announced without preamble. He sighed, looked down at the little animal, and returned it to its cage before picking up the next one, which was spotted like a dairy cow. It swiveled its ears as he picked it up, turning its head curiously.

“You’re kinda cute, aren’t you?” He told the rabbit.

“Do _not_ name the lab animals, Reyes.” Moira’s voice snapped across the lab, her tone deadly serious.

“Why? Worried you might get attached?” He asked, nestling the animal securely on the table.

“I’m concerned about _you_ getting attached. I wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about any casualties,” she told him. “I know how some people get, particularly people like you. So attached to their pets…” She shook her head, deftly administering the serum. Fur shifted beneath his fingers as the rabbit squirmed. He stroked it, trying to comfort it, and returned it to its cage before picking up a slightly smaller third rabbit. It struggled in his arms.

“They’re getting nervous. The smell of blood riles them up. Hold them tightly,” Moira advised, reloading her syringe gun. He looked down at the little furball in his arms, feeling like he should apologize as he placed it on the table, trying not to crush it.

“Ouch!”

He flinched at the sudden pain in his hand, and the rabbit wriggled free, bounding across the table. He leaped forward, trying to wrangle the animal, and his wounded side caught the corner of the table.

 Blinding pain shot through him, and he crumpled with a strangled groan. He heard Moira scrambling around nearby, then she was suddenly there again, bending over him, peeling back his shirt. She _tsked_ when she saw the bandages and stood up. He curled around himself, watching through a haze as she washed and gloved her hands, then returned to his side.

“You could have told me you were still healing,” she scolded.

“Wasn’t important,” he grunted, cradling his wound.

“Do you still feel that way?” she asked, her tone mocking. He didn’t respond. “Stubborn man. I take it Angela released you only half-healed? That seems exceptionally neglectful of her.”

“She was busy. Told her it was fine.” The pain was receding, but the injury still hurt fiercely.

“You should have come to me the second you got back. I can heal this. Can you stand?”

“Yeah.”

She helped him off the floor and onto the padded table.

“Didn’t want to bother you. Didn’t think it was worth it,” he mumbled.

“You shouldn’t have to live in pain, Commander. Let me fix it,” she offered.

He sighed and nodded, his heart pattering against his ribs. He wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted her treatment, but he supposed it would be a good test of her actual doctor skills…

 She helped him pull his shirt off, then peeled back the wad of gauze covering the wound. The line of half-healed raw flesh wept small ruby tears.

 “Shouldn’t I get this checked out up in med-bay if you’re worried about it?” He asked.

“If your inner stitches had split, Commander, you’d know. Given you’re not in _that_ much pain and you aren’t bleeding that badly, I think it’s safe to say I can fix this without having to reopen the wound.” She pulled a few small vials full of golden liquid and a clean syringe from a cabinet. “This will sting, but only for a moment.”

“That’s the same stuff Angela uses,” Reyes noted, the concerned tension in his muscles dissipating. He knew what this stuff did, and it was damn effective.

“Dr. Ziegler uses the same nanobiotics I do,” the Irish woman corrected, measuring a syringe full. Warmth crept into his cheeks. _Right._ Ziegler’s first-response tech was actually inspired by Moira’s work, not the other way around.

 She pushed him flat on the table and swabbed a spot just to the left of his injury. “Try to relax. You may want to hold onto something.”

He looked up at the ceiling and gritted his teeth as Moira’s needle pierced his belly. His insides seemed to fill with live ants as she pushed the biotic solution into his wound, and his fingers clenched around the sides of the table. He grunted and writhed, fighting every instinct to scratch. After an endless moment, though, the feeling that his insides had become home to a nest of fire ants lessened, and his breathing eased. He craned his head to look at his abdomen. The bleeding was already slowing, the redness fading along with the pain. He let out a breath as Moira inspected her work, gave the wound a quick cleaning with an alcohol wipe, then slapped a new bandage on.

 

“The rabbit bit you, didn’t it? That is why you jumped?” She asked, turning her attention to his bleeding finger.

“Yeah.”

 “I told you to hold…nevermind.” She waved the comment away. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine, Doc.”

“You haven’t worked in pathology. Let me see,” she insisted.

He allowed her to clean and bandage his finger as well, feeling embarrassment burn through him. The last time he’d gotten treated like this, he was maybe eleven, and his mother was fussing about a deep scratch he’d gotten from the cat.

“Tell me if you develop a fever,” Moira told him, handing back his shirt.

He grimaced. “I could have caught something from your rabbits?” 

“It’s a possibility,” she said nonchalantly, stripping off her gloves. “I haven’t been researching anything particularly dangerous, but I’m not exactly sure what the live SEP vector transferred from rabbit to human will do.”

“Did you catch your rabbit, then?” He asked, glancing at the apparently-full cages across the room.

“Yes, it’s contained. And I’ll want samples from you tomorrow because of this incident. It may complicate my work.”

He slipped his shirt back on with a sigh, his gaze flickering back over the rabbits. “Should I stay and help?”

“I think you’ve ‘helped’ _quite_ enough already,” Moira said, one eyebrow rising in a disdainful expression. “I’m perfectly capable of doing the rest on my own.”

“I mean, don’t they get a treat or something for what they put up with?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You may come back tomorrow and give them a treat if I cannot dissuade you. If I fed them a carrot a piece for every round of injections I gave them, they would be morbidly obese.”

He winced at the thought of how many times the animals found themselves on the wrong end of Moira’s tests. “Fair enough.” He got off the table, secretly glad of the opportunity to escape the onerous duty of being Moira’s lab assistant.

“Get some rest, Commander. Doctor’s orders.”

As the door whispered closed behind him, he thought he heard the geneticist mutter the word _children_ under her breath.

****************************************

**A/N:** This was a fun chapter. Can't say I expected to publish again so soon, but hopefully you guys enjoyed it. 

Until next time! (though it may be a while) 

SB

 


	8. Interlude: Deadeye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse tries to get details about Reyes' and O'Deorain's interactions. Moira has good news for her commander.

 

The opening notes from _El Bueno, el Feo y el Malo_ seemed to echo inside his head as he stared down the iron sights at his target, the gap between his breathing lengthening. Some part of him knew it was hilariously cliché for him to use this song, what with all the old westerns the score had been used in, but he found it strangely grounding, an easy way to focus in the middle of a mad firefight. _And it fit him so well,_ as the boss liked to say.

He emptied his weapon, and the training bots, undamaged moments before, hit the floor, crumpled like pop cans. He put Peacekeeper, now empty, down and stepped back to view his scores, nearly jumping out of his boots. A tall figure had seemingly materialized behind him, peering curiously at the digital scoreboard.

“Don’t ya know not to sneak up on people?” Jesse grumbled.

“My apologies.” The doctor gave him a thin smile that did not reach her mismatched eyes. “I didn’t think this was a private space.”

Jesse grunted. “Can I help ya find someone?”

“Actually, yes. I’m looking for Commander Reyes. I have something to tell him.”

“ I’ll let him know for ya. What’s the message?”

O’Deorain’s smile widened slightly. “I’m afraid it’s something he doesn’t currently wish to share. If you would like in on it, you had better ask him, not me.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“I was simply admiring your accuracy. You really are extraordinary with that pistol of yours. Top marks with an old-fashioned six-shooter, no recoil dampeners…” She clucked her tongue. “Remarkable. How _do_ you do it?”

“Practice. Lots and lots of practice.” He picked up Peacekeeper, flicked the safety on, and holstered it. “Has the boss given you clearance to go on mission with us? That why you’re asking? Hopin’ to pick up tips or somethin’?”

“No,” she replied simply. Jesse relaxed a little. He’d seen O’Deorain’s first scores on the range, and…well, she definitely wasn’t any Ana Amari, that was for sure. “I am merely getting to know my coworkers and what makes them so efficient in the field.” Her smile became a smirk. “There has to be _some_ reason that you’re using a six-shooter instead of a pulse-rifle.”

He shrugged and ignored her jab. “Been using it a _long_ time. Got used to it.”

“And yet, despite all the advances in technology…” She gestured at the scoreboard. “You have almost-perfect scores.” She still stared at him, her gaze scanning him, making his skin crawl. He was pretty sure he knew what she wanted and was just waiting for him to ask so she could drag him into her lab and analyze him.

He wasn’t stepping into that trap.

“I should go. Skipped lunch.” He tipped the brim of his hat with the bare minimum of respect.

She _tsked_ at him as he stepped around her, folding her thin arms. “You really should take better care of yourself,” she scolded.

Jesse rolled his eyes. _She_ was one to talk; she didn’t even _try_ to hide the scarring or discoloration on her arm from when she’d done…whatever she’d done to herself. He’d never fuck himself up that badly. _Yet another reason to stay as far away from her as possible._ He tipped his hat further down, glowering to himself and wondering what kind of crap Reyes was up to with her. He knew the commander was sick, but Reyes didn’t talk about or mention it much, always getting cranky when someone asked him how he was doing.

Someone stepped suddenly into his path, and he nearly collided with them.

“Be careful!”

He looked up, straightening his hat.

“Sorry, Genji.”

“Have you seen the commander?”

_Was everyone looking for the commander?_ “Nah. He’ll be holed up in O’Deorain’s lab soon as she can find him anyway.”

“I hope she does not keep him too long. I need some help.” He flexed his left hand. His fingers twitched like he had the shakes.

“Problems with your cybernetics again?” He asked, grimacing in sympathy. Problems meant repairs, and repairs meant recalibration, a process that was…unpleasant, as the technicians had to check and recheck the neural connections between the mechanical graft and living nerve tissue.

“Yes.”

“Going to see Angela about it?”

“I am hoping the problem can be solved with a simple repair that will not require her input, but the administration has told me that Dr. O’Deorain is equally qualified to handle it.”

He ground his teeth on the butt of his cigar. He’d gotten the same damned email, but they were batshit crazy if they thought he’d run to O’Deorain for help. He didn’t trust her as far as she could throw him. “I’d still go to Angela if I were you.”

“Dr. O’Deorain is a competent professional,”Genji replied in his calm voice.

“Yeah, but-“ He didn’t know how to finish the thought. He _knew_ there was something wrong about her, but he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on it. All his other complaints about her were public record, and ‘a bad feeling’ wasn’t enough to fire her. He harrumphed and crossed his arms, chewing on the end of his cigar. “You do you. If I’ve got issues, I know who I trust.” He  pointed a finger at Genji. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya when you wake up one day with gills, though. Or something equally unnatural.”

“You are paranoid,” Genji said flatly as Jesse stepped around him.

“Nah, just bein’ cautious. Better safe than sorry.” He raised a hand in a short farewell and ducked into the nearest bathroom. Talking about any sort of cybernetic issues made his lost fingers tingle uncomfortably. He couldn’t imagine living with more than half his body replaced by tech; it may be stronger and faster than flesh and bone, but it was definitely not tamper-proof. He wondered what would happen if someone were to find a way to hack cybernetic limbs and shuddered, flexing his fingers. Another reason he didn’t trust tech any more than he had to.

A retching and spattering sound made him whirl around. Someone else was in here, getting sick. _Drunk?,_ he wondered. Jesse hovered for a moment longer, unsure of what to do. The toilet flushed, and the door swung aside about a minute later, and a sweaty, pale Gabriel Reyes stumbled out. The commander froze for a second in Jesse’s stare, then glared at the cowboy. Reyes was a frequent drunk, but always after a mission and in off-duty hours. He never ran the risk of being intoxicated on the job.

So why was he puking his guts up during the middle of the day?

“ _Jefe?_ Y’all right, pardner?”

“Fine, Jesse.” Reyes growled defensively, crossing to the sink and splashing his face.

“You sure? That didn’t sound okay t-“

Reyes straightened, jabbing a dripping finger into Jesse’s chest. “Not a word about this. I’m getting help, and I’ll be fine.”

“Angela?”

“Sure,” he said, his tone short. “Whatever you want it to be.” He shoved his hands under the dryer.

“O’Deorain was lookin’ for ya.”

“Oh.” His voice pitched in surprise. “Thanks.” He shook the residual water off his hands and made for the door.

“What are you up to with-“

The door swung shut. Jesse gave chase, refusing to be deterred so easily.

“Gabriel! Hey, Commander!” He shouted at the man’s hastily-retreating back. “REYES!”

Gabriel did not turn or stop, rounding the corner and vanishing out of sight. Jesse grumbled. There was no point trying to get his attention when he was this distracted. His mind drifted to what O’Deorain could possibly want him for. Most likely she wanted to show off some new science project.

_But…but what if she didn’t? What if she was using him,_ a small voice in his head wondered.

He shook his head and snorted a laugh at himself. Gabriel wasn’t blind or stupid. Surely he’d be able to see any sort of backstabbery coming. And surely the geneticist wouldn’t risk her precious funding so soon. It had been barely a month since they’d brought her on. Still, the redhead seemed intent on burying her hands in everyone else’s business, only to pick them apart and analyze every detail for her own ends, whatever those ends might be. And whatever business Reyes was wrapped up in with her, he seemed quite distracted, possibly enough not to notice this less-than-comforting detail about their new scientist. Fortunately for Reyes, he had more than himself looking out for him.

_I’m watching you, Doc._

_VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV_

“Commander! Good heavens, you gave me a start.” Moira stepped aside and let him into her lab, still grinning like a cat that had gotten the canary.

“You’re in a good mood,” he noted.

“What, I can’t be pleased about progress?” she drawled.

“No, but you’re never happy about being interrupted.”

Her smirk twisted and widened. “Aren’t you a voice of reason. And that’s mostly true, yes. But I wanted to show you something.” She led him over to a the lab table holding three pet carriers. “Meet your future.”

“Are you going to tell me you’ve turned the interns into rabbits?” he commented, giving the ordinary-looking animals a cursory glance.

She sighed, and he could practically _feel_ her eyeroll. “Of _course_ not. These three animals have survived both my best reproductions of the SEP serums used on you and my treatment. They could hold the key to your survival.” She waved him over to her computer and booted it. Six snapshots of what looked like microscope slides appeared on-screen, each captioned by a series of numbers. The left ones of each pair were stained with noticeably darker splotches.

“Before and after,” she explained. “The evidence for my treatment’s effectiveness is all right there.”

“I assume this is something about fixing a cell on a genetic level?” He guessed, squinting at the pictures and trying to remember long-past biology lessons.

 She nodded, peering thoughtfully at the images. “Though this is _part_ of the cure you asked for, I assure you it is effective in preliminary tests. I’ll  want to start human tests as soon as possible to see if that trend continues.”

He shrugged. “Dunno if that’s the best idea…”

She leveled a look at him that screamed exasperation. “And why would that be? You said yourself you wanted answers quickly.”

“Look, I’ve just been kind of sick lately. Don’t know how I would take experimental crap being pumped into me.”

She pointed, and he hesitantly sat down on the new lab table in one corner.

“I wouldn’t start trials directly on you anyway, Commander. That would risk a nasty reaction and possible severe side-effects,” she said sharply, wrapping a blood-pressure cuff around his arm and taking his wrist. Her cool fingers felt good against his skin, but didn’t distract him from what she’d said.

“You’re worried about yourself,” he accused.

“My concerns lie with both my work _and_ my patients. I would be an utter failure as a doctor if I didn’t try to treat your condition or hastened your death.” She dropped his wrist and put a hand to his forehead. “I take it you did not hire me in such a specific field to perform just one specific task, and I assume that Overwatch presumed I have _some_ rudimentary training when they took me on.” She tutted and withdrew. “I thought so. You’re running a fever. You should be resting, not running amok with the cowboy.”

He frowned. “Is it connected to the SEP shit?”

 “Not likely. There’s a bit of a bug going around, and you won’t have physical manifestations from the SEP vector this severe until later. I recommend rest and fluids. And _not spreading it around_ ,” she finished pointedly.

“And what _about_ the SEP stuff?”

“Dr. Ziegler already identified some of your psychological symptoms as being frontotemporal disorder, which is classified as a kind of dementia affecting the areas of the brain that govern higher processes and association. The specific cause of this type of dementia has been linked to mutations in Chromosome 17q21-22, probably triggered by the SEP serums in your case. I have singled out other mutations on your DNA due to the serums, but I likely won’t be able to fix them all at once.” She turned and began rummaging through her cabinets.

He groaned, his head aching both from trying to keep up with her jargon and at the thought of more SEP-like bullshit. “So, plan for multiple sick days?”

“I’ll try to keep the reactivity to a minimum, but yes. Hence the lab animals and the copious amounts of testing and re-testing. I’ll want more samples at some point so I can have some idea of how your body will react.”

“Of course you do,” he grumbled.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” She handed him a bottle of pills, then shooed him off the table with a flick of one hand. “I’m done with you for now. You should go; I don’t want you spreading your contagion to my rabbits.”

“How kind of you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“A precaution. Unnecessary complications means wasted time. Besides, you should be focusing on getting better, not sitting around my lab, chatting.”

“Bet you’re a scream at parties,” he muttered, making his way towards the door.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been,” she said nonchalantly, turning back to her work. “If you don’t feel better in a few days, talk to the base physician, and I will follow up to make sure it’s not something that needs my attention. Now, _if_ you’re quite finished…”

He left the lab, scowling. He could kind of see Jesse’s point: she _was_ a work-obsessed maniac.

_But she_ was _getting results._

            She had literally laid the proof right in front of him. If it worked, he would survive.

            He had to tell Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took me way too long to write.   
> Many thanks to those still reading or those who have been patiently waiting.   
> Sometimes it may take a bit for my beta to get back to me, and sometimes I suffer writer's block.   
> I hope this chapter was enjoyable, and I hope to have more for you soon.   
> Thanks! :)


	9. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes tries to get Moira to join his field team, but is blocked from doing so. The rest of his team gives their two cents on the geneticist. Reyes second-guesses himself.

*****************************************************

“ _How long have you been seeing her, Reyes?”_

“Few weeks now.

A sigh crackled over the phone, but he cut Jack off. “Listen, I know you have concerns and worries. But she’s _getting results_. She can help me, Jack. She can help you too if you let her. You don’t have to deal with or worry about the SEP shit tearing up your insides anymore.”

_“I don’t need help. Really. I feel fine.”_

“You know what? I said the exact same damn thing about a year ago. And now I’ve got three years left. So don’t give me that shit,” he snapped into the phone.

“ _If I have issues, I’ll go to Ziegler. You know she keeps a close eye on both you and me, and she says I’m looking fine. I’ll consider O’Deorain if something changes soon, but I don’t have any reason to right now.”_

“ You don’t trust her.”

“ _Damn right I don’t. I would have kept her as far away from Overwatch as possible, but I knew you needed her, and I trust your judgement. That doesn’t extend to her.”_

Reyes scowled at the wall of his office. “Suppose that means sending her on missions is a definite negative then.”

“ _I’ve seen her combat scores, Gabriel. There are a lot better choices for Blackwatch field agents .”_

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t talking about her firing range scores. We need a medic, and not just someone who can set bones. Shimada and McCree both have cybernetics, and I have my…condition. We need someone with more specialized skills.”

_“She’s still a liability in the field. Without some way to defend herself, she’ll be easy pickings.”_

“But-“

Morrison cut him off. “ _Listen, Reyes; I know you have conditions, but unless there’s something immediately useful she can provide that other medics can’t, then there’s no point in me bringing it up with Lacroix again . It’s just too  risky to have her out in the field.”_

Reyes scowled into the phone, but assented. “Fine. I just worry.”

_“I know you do. But you’ve been doing fine until now. You’ll be okay, and if you’re not, I’m sure you’ll let me know. By the way, keep me updated on the progress of that cure, yeah? I want to know how that goes, and I’ll want Ziegler to look at it before O’Deorain tries it on you.”_

“If there’s time.”

_“I’m serious, Gabriel. That shit might work on rabbits, but it could eat your insides. I haven’t the faintest idea, but I don’t want to risk it.”_

“I get that you’re worried, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Besides, If she ends up offing me with a test, then you can toss her skinny ass in jail and Doc won’t have to worry about trying to fix me anymore.”

_“Yeah, you can joke now, Reyes. But if this…_ thing _with O’Deorain goes south, I’ve got to file the paperwork.”_

“Yeah, love you too.” Reyes rolled his eyes. “It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

Static crackled sharply in his ear, and he realized Jack had snorted. _“You should have your own show.”_ Again he paused _. “But seriously; don’t let this get too far out of hand, Reyes. You said you could control her. So do it.”_

Reyes grunted an affirmative and hung up, then hoisted himself out of his office chair. He really needed a new one; it was getting harder to for him to lever himself out of this one, what with all his aches and pains. _Fucking SEP shit_ , he thought as he made his way out into the hall. Maybe O’Deorain would have some good news for him on that front.

********************************

Cybernetic fingers clenched, then relaxed under her watchful gaze. Shimada seemed focused on his hand, but her eyes were free to stray, peering curiously at the cyborg and watching his reaction.

“How does it feel?”

He flexed his hand. “Better. Thank you.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “Certainly, Mr. Shimada. Out of curiosity, though, why come see me?”

“You have training, and the other base doctors could not help. It was more efficient than consulting Dr. Ziegler.”

She hummed contemplatively. Genji Shimada was a difficult man to read; unlike Gabriel or McCree, she couldn’t tell what his opinion of her was, though his response to her questions struck her as singularly expedient. Like she was just another doctor that happened to be a bit more skilled in the realm of cybernetics than her counterparts. The only personality trait she could gather on him was his remarkable efficiency.

She could appreciate that.

“I have some ideas that might increase the sensitivity between your prosthetic and your own body, which may help with your present issues,” she offered.

Shimada looked away, pulling back from her slightly. _Clearly distrustful._

The door slid open behind the cyborg, and Reyes stepped inside and froze, staring at the two of them.

“Sorry,” he mumbled hastily, stepping backward.

“You may come in. I am leaving,” Shimada said, always in that unflappably calm tone.

“Well, in that case,” he turned his gaze onto her, “we need to talk.”

Shimada left, and she turned to Reyes, whose expression had darkened. “Yes, Commander?”

“Let me get something straight, O’Deorain. I don’t want you fucking about with my team,” he growled, jabbing a finger at her.

“Agent Shimada was having trouble with his prosthetic arm, and he came to me for some delicate repairs, Commander,” she responded stiffly. “Unless you’d rather have him go into battle with one bum hand?”

“That’s not what I-“

She cut across him. “But you _implied_ it. I have to be able to work freely if you want your team performing at full potential.”

“Repairs are fine. But any other prosthetic work goes through _me_ first, got it? And you’re only allowed to alter _prosthetics,_ not genes.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. _Ah._ “Worried about our agreement getting out?”

“You could say that,” Reyes grumbled.

“I can be discrete.”

“That’s what worries me. Because it’s not you that will slip up; it’s one of those knuckleheads. And then Proper will throw a giant fit, and you’ll never get a chance at a lab in a million lifetimes. I’m willing to put my life on the line, but I don’t want you talking to anyone else about gene mods. Got it?”

“Very well. Even if my work could greatly benefit other people than yourself, I understand why you have concerns.”

Reyes crossed his arms impatiently. “And?”

She rolled her eyes. “I read my contract, Commander. We shouldn’t have to be doing this.”

            “And yet we are, because you apparently don’t get it. You step even the tiniest bit out of line and Overwatch will cut themselves off from you. Funding, recognition, association, _everything._ And you _will_ go to jail.”

            She stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”

            “No! God _damn_ it, Moira! No, I’m not threatening you.” He covered his face with one hand, his fingers tangling in his hair. “I don’t want to see you leave.  I appreciate the help you’ve been giving me and I don’t want that to go to waste.” He crossed his arms, staring at the floor. “I just need you to understand what the consequences are if you mess this up. So do you get it now? Are you sure you can handle being here without pissing off the board?”

            “I’ll be more careful,” she responded shortly.

            “And follow the fucking rules for once. _Please.”_

            A long moment of silence lingered between the two of them.

            “Are you finished?” She drawled.

            He shot her a glare. “Do something about your attitude. You’re in a paramilitary group now. You can’t expect intimidation and charm to work here. You’re part of a team, not the boss. _Act_ like it.”

            A retort formed on her tongue, but she bit it back, waiting for Reyes to cool off.

            “Anyway,” the man grunted, “I _wanted_ to come by to tell you I spoke to Morrison about getting you out into the field.”

            “My best work has always been done in the lab, Commander,” she told him, her mouth tensing in a frown.

            “Yes, but my team is more than a bit stubborn, and to add to it, we all have our own…issues. I think you could really be a benefit in the field.”

            “Perhaps, but my talents and time would be wasted on such things.”

            Reyes was silent for a moment, then looked up at her. “I know you have those healing nanites. They work like Ziegler’s; that means you could help us.”

            She scoffed. “Perhaps, but injecting them during a battle would either require me to carry a weapon capable of firing nanite projectiles or for the injured individual to lay low and wait while I found them. The latter is inefficient and the former…well, you’ve seen my scores on the range, Gabriel.”

            Reyes grumbled something under his breath. She tried not to roll her eyes. _He really was being overly insistent._ He must have gotten used to tightly controlling Blackwatch.

            “My place is here, not on the battlefield. I will supply your medic with some of the nanites, but I should be here, working. I’ve got a lot of complex things to do, finding a cure for you being merely one of many, many projects I’m working on. I don’t need more distractions.”

            Reyes scowled.

            “Perhaps I would accept under different circumstances, but until things change, I’m going to refuse. With all due respect, Commander, I have a lot to do. I encourage you to find me if you need medical help, but these kinds of things are simply out of the question for now.” She crossed to her computer. “Good day.”

            He left without a word.

************************

            “So, _Jefe…_ ” Cards fanned out in between Jesse’s hands as he began to shuffle. “Heard you spoke to the Strike Commander about O’Deorain joining the team. What’d he say?”

            “He said no. But even if he had said yes, O’Deorain refused anyway. So don’t worry, Jesse; your genes are safe another day,” Gabriel joked darkly.

            Laughter billowed from the doorway, carrying with it the smell of fried chicken. “Good one, Reyes!”

            He looked up to see the medic, Scott, standing at the door, holding a big striped bucket splotched with grease.

            “Someone order some stodge?” The medic asked.

            “What, you’re not going to tell us off like any good doctor would for eating that?” Reyes asked, eyeing the chicken. The smell alone was making his mouth water.

            “Nah. Everyone’s gotta live a little, right?” Scott plopped himself down at the table. “Here, help yourself.”

            Jesse passed out the cards as Reyes grabbed some food.

            “So, you’re still a little doctor-shy, huh?” Scott asked McCree, setting his teeth into a leg.

            Jesse shrugged. “Don’t mind regular doctors too much. Don’t like her.”

            “He gets a ‘bad feeling’ around her,” Genji supplied.

            Scott laughed again. “So the big, bad gangster doesn’t like the scary doctor.”

            “Have you _met_ O’Deorain?”McCree grumbled.

            “It’s all good, cowboy. To be honest, she is a bit scary. Ask any of the docs here.” The medic shrugged. “But she’s efficient.”

“I’d be more worried if I was you,” McCree said, chewing at his cigar. “Reyes is talking about replacing you with her.”

Scott looked up from his cards at Reyes, his face troubled. “That true, boss?”

“It would be a transfer. There are plenty of other places Overwatch needs you.”

Th medic nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I can understand that. She _is_ damn efficient. It would suck to be away from you guys, though.”

“Would ya actually miss us  or just the beer?” Jesse asked, grinning crookedly around his cigar.

“Come on, guys. Give me more credit.”

“When you earn it, Scott,” Gabriel retorted. The table erupted in laughter.

“So what do you really think of O’Deorain?” Reyes asked.

The man glanced to the doorway. “Erm…well, she’s kina bossy, to be honest, and she doesn’t exactly have the best manners. And she’s very critical.”

Reyes chuckled, remembering the criticism she cast on Angela’s record-keeping. “Yeah, I can vouch for that one.”

“I dunno. She mostly keeps to herself, though. Doesn’t like interruptions. So I just stay away from her for the most part.”

“Good call,” McCree said, tossing a card onto the table.

“Well, we know what Jesse thinks of her. How about you, Shimada? You’ve been kind of quiet.” The medic peered at the ninja.

“She is a doctor. I would not prefer to go to her, but she knows what she is doing. I believe there must be some element of respect between us, or one of our missions could end very badly.” He flexed his cybernetic hand. “But I have no desire to be friends with her. She fixed my malfunction earlier today, but that does not mean I need to trust her beyond that purpose.”

Jesse took the cigar out of his mouth and gave the cyborg a nod. “I second that.”

“You would prefer someone else to look at it?”

“When possible, yes.”

“I’d go to Ziegler if I could,” McCree chimed in, causing Scott to tease him about a crush on the Swiss doctor. Reyes put the idle conversation aside, Genji’s reply playing over and over in his head.

How much trust was _too_ much to give O’Deorain? There was the very real potential for her to abuse the faith he’d placed in her; was he wrong to give her so much leeway?

If he was, someone could wind up seriously hurt.


	10. In Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwatch is sent on mission to gather information about Talon. Reyes sees untapped potential in his newest member and sets up for making his own changes against an ever-strengthening enemy.  
> ***************************

 

Alarms shrieked down the hallways, punctuated by the sound of gunfire and shouting. Reyes smacked his head as he attempted to extricate himself from beneath the desk, slamming the hidden compartment he was searching closed and snatching the flash drive from the computer. Someone had seen them and tripped the alarms, and they hadn’t even acquired the data they were after. Security was coming, and Reyes had no choice but to stop this thing before his team got killed. Genji didn’t worry him particularly; the ninja knew how to get around quickly and quietly, but McCree did not, and the cowboy wasn’t exactly armed for a holdout. That damned six-shooter he insisted on carrying wasn’t doing him many favors either.

Reyes heard a crackle in his ear, then McCree’s curse, then a low buzzthat might have been a zipper being pulled over his earpiece.

 “ _Need backup,_ jefe! _They’re all over me!”_

“Abort! Abort! Shimada, McCree, get your _asses_ to the extraction point!” He snapped.

 “ _On my way_ ,” Genji replied, his tone tighter than usual.

Reyes waited a heartbeat for a response from Jesse.

“McCree! Abort!” He repeated, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice.

McCree finally came through with a mess of garbled curses and labored breathing. Again Reyes heard the sound of bullets whizzing past McCree’s earpiece like infuriated hornets. Gabriel swore.

“McCree! Where are you?”

“ _I’m going, goddamn it! Don’t get your panties in a twist! These fucking-“_ Another swear accompanied by yet another angry buzz, “ _won’t stop_ shooting _at me!_ _Can’t get an opening!”_

“I’m coming to get you, but I need your location. Stay put.”

_“Up by some swanky office, long red carpet, Chinese-lookin’ vases. Hurry.”_

Reyes readied his shotgun, peered out into the hallway, and upon seeing no guards, broke cover and ran for the office McCree had indicated. Jesse sounded like he’d taken a bullet; he definitely wasn’t out of shape, and he hadn’t run very far.

“On my way. Talk to me, Jesse,” Gabriel said, hop-stepping over the bodies lying in the hall.

“ _My goddamned prosthetic isn’t working. Took a bullet. Bleeding too.”_

“Hang in there. I’m coming.”

            He sprinted around a corner, the sound of gunfire getting closer. The hallway twisted, then split into a T. The Talon soldier at the other end and Reyes spotted each other at the same time. Reyes was faster, and the soldier hit the floor, a hole punched in his white-armored chest. He turned at the junction, the gunfire now deafening. He ducked his head around the corner, pulled back into cover, processing what he’d seen . Two soldiers on his side, sheltering behind small coffee tables, several white-armored bodies, then a larger overturned  table practically reduced to splinters. Shattered pottery all over the carpet. Jesse’s hat, riddled with holes. He opened the commlink again.

            “That’s you on the other side of the table, innit?” he murmured as quietly as possible.

            “ _Yeah. That’s me.”_

            “Duck and cover. I still have a grenade left.”

            Reyes closed the channel, then picked a grenade off his belt, pulled the pin, counted to three, and threw it. Yells followed the muffled _plunk_ of the armament onto the carpet. Reyes plugged his ears and took as many steps around the corner as the two remaining seconds would allow.

            A pressure wave, followed by a thunderclap _bang_ , echoed in the enclosed space. He waited three seconds then glanced back around the corner. Both soldiers lay on the floor, their armor shredded.

            “Jesse?!” He shouted.

The dusty, scratched, haggard-looking gunslinger emerged. He’d clamped a part of his serape to his arm, but blood stained his prosthetic arm red to the elbow. He swayed on his feet, his bearded face pale and sunken.

            “You look like _shit_ , Jesse.”

            “Great. Means I look better than I feel.” Jesse leaned against the wall.

            “Haven’t heard that one before from you. Let’s get out of here, yeah? Come on.” He tossed the man’s arm over his shoulder and moved as fast as he could, Jesse stumbling along with him through the warren hallways.  He alerted their transport, warned Scott about McCree’s wounds. They made their way back to the entrance, nearly bumbling into guards no less than four times. It was a wonder the whole _cell_ wasn’t alerted to their presence at this point. The van was waiting, and Reyes hauled McCree’s sorry ass through the ambulance-style doors. The man protested, something about his hat, but the tires were already squealing on pavement even before the doors swung shut. Reyes dumped the cowboy onto the gurney and helped the medic start removing the gunslinger’s body armor and shirt so they could get at McCree’s wounds.

            “’s anyone seen m’ hat?”

            “I’ll get you a new one. Now shut up and keep still.”

            He sat down and closed his eyes. Jesse had gotten hurt worse than this before, his missing arm being the primary example. He’d be fine after a day or two in hospital; the BAMF belt buckle he wore wasn’t just for show. Scott called HQ, and Reyes closed his eyes, ready for a nap in the aftermath of the adrenaline crash and sudden quiet. The medic’s voice yanked him from half-sleep.

            “What do you mean, there’s no resident surgeon available?”

            Reyes shook himself awake again. Scott paused and looked hopelessly at Reyes, lowering the phone.

            “The surgeon is sick with the flu. He went home four hours ago, and the on-call is away.”

            Reyes scowled, straightened, and plucked the phone from the man’s hands. “Is O’Deorain not there?” He snapped.

            “ _W-technically no, sir, but she’s bu-“_

“Let me talk to her.”

            “ _Of course.”_

Silence echoed in his ear, then something clicked. A cool, smooth voice flooded his ear.

            _“Commander. Can I help you?”_

            “They need you in surgery, and I know you’re qualified. McCree got shot. His prosthetic is damaged, and he’s lost a lot of blood. They’ll brief you on the situation once you get to medical.”

            A long pause then; _“Understood._ ”

            The phone line beeped. She’d hung up. Reyes looked back at Scott, who stood there, hovering anxiously.

            “I got someone.”

            Scott sighed in relief , stripped off his bloody gloves, and sat down.

“He’s stable and probably will be fine if he gets to surgery soon. Who did you get?”

He glanced at McCree, who had passed out, probably from the pain medication and loss of blood. The bandage around his truncated arm seemed to be stemming the flow of blood for now. “O’Deorain’s qualified. She’ll be there and ready.”

Scott glanced at the gunslinger. “He’s not going to like that.”

“Tough shit. She’s the only qualified person available.”      

“I suppose. Her biotics work like a charm, at any rate. Seriously, you need to get a patent for those things.”

Reyes grunted. “Yeah? Tell Morrison.” This was going to be a lot of fun explaining to Proper. He could use something besides incomplete data to try to take the edge off this absolute disaster of a mission.

McCree woke up twice during the ride back, but seemed out of it thanks to drugs and pain. Unfortunately, he was definitely aware enough to recognize Moira as she came hustling towards them when they arrived at base, the searchlights catching in her fiery hair. Jesse turned a face etched with betrayal on Gabriel.

“Boss… _jefe…_ ”

“Sorry, Jesse. She was the only one available.” He patted the man’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Promise.”

“’F I’m not, I’m gonna kill you,” he grumbled, scowling and tugging at the restraints slightly.

“You’ll be fine, Jesse.”

The wounded, barely-coherent man was whisked away by the medical team, but Moira lingered a moment.

“I’ll keep you apprised of the situation, Commander.”

“No fuck-ups, O’Deorain,” he warned.

She shot him a look that screamed _really?_ and followed the medical team inside, leaving Reyes standing there, alone under the bright lights.

“I need some good news right about now,” he murmured into the sudden quiet.


End file.
